


Hell's Teeth

by annabellelux, xivz



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Baz Pitch is so gay and doesn’t know it, Canon Compliant, Demon Summoning, Demon slaying, LET'S FIND OUT, M/M, Magic Mishaps, Magical Accidents, Simon just wanted a Mint Aero bar, Stupid Boys, Swordfighting, Watford First Year, bed sharing, but alas, is the tooth fairy real?, maybe a comic book, mild violence, pre carry on, what have we done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz
Summary: Simon Snow honestly just wanted fifty pounds from the tooth fairy—for new trainers or perhaps some Mint Aero bars. That's the story he's sticking with despite Baz Pitch's accusations. Simon hadn't meant to summon a demon! But, unfortunately, when you're the Chosen One, misadventures like this occur more often than one would expect.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 42
Kudos: 188





	Hell's Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes a typo of "tooth spell" when one meant "truth spell" leads to a tangent that leads to a whole fanfic. This is one of those times. 
> 
> Simon POV by xivz  
> Baz POV by annabellelux
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

**Simon**

My tooth is loose.

I can't stop pushing it around with my tongue. It's distracting. I'm trying to work on my History of Magick assignment, but I can't seem to focus. I know that by eleven most people have all of their adult teeth, but this last tooth has been stubborn, and honestly I had forgotten all about it. The Mage came to me during the summer and explained magic to me like I'm Harry bloody Potter. (I guess in a way I am.) Only, my coming into magic wasn't as cool. I didn't have a half-giant bring me a squashed cake or letters flooding the home I was in. I blew up and burned down a care home. Luckily, no one was harmed. The Mage is hoping that I'll grow into my magic. I hope so too. 

Magic is cool! I like learning about it even if I don't get it. Even if people seem to either hate me or are terrified of me. I haven't gotten the chance to make many friends, except for Penny. Although she more than makes up for my lack of companionship. Penelope Bunce is bold, honest, and doesn't cut corners with me. I really like that about her. Not _like-like_ , I don't fancy her. She scares me a little sometimes—she's intense. 

I press my tongue against my tooth again and can feel Baz's glare on my cheek. It's not like I've been doing anything! Just sitting at my desk quietly working! But I could be breathing too hard and he'd complain.

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch (what a mouthful) hates me. He's hated me since before he met me. He's made it clear that he doesn't agree that I should attend school here. We've been roommates for months now and he's been nothing but an uptight arse. He always finds some fault in me, always has a cruel word—or worse. 

My loose tooth is because of him. We got into a scuffle on the pitch during a casual game of football and he punched me in the jaw. I got him back in the eye. We were both given detention by Coach Mac. 

I sigh and tug on my hair, wondering if I should just go into the en suite and attempt to pull it out. The last thing I need is for Baz to say shit about me still having a baby tooth.

The truth is that I never thought much of the tooth fairy, but Penny says that fairies exist. So the tooth fairy must be real. 

Penny's knowledge—which is extensive—is still limited, and having grown up as a Normal, I have no clue what to expect. But there's someone I know who would know—not the Mage, he's not been here much this semester. Someone who is _literally_ a lot closer.

“Oi, Baz,” I turn to see him working on his Latin assignment at his desk. His gaze is kept strictly on his paper as he ignores me. I roll my eyes at him (what a tosser), but push on. “What—what do you—uh, what do you—know about the too-tooth fairy?”

**Baz**

I ignore him, hoping that will make him go away. 

I should know better by now.

“Baz. Baz. Baz!” Snow’s whiny voice demands. 

I'm not sure why Snow thinks using that stupid nickname will convince me to talk to him. He's got everyone calling me it now—teachers, students, even Dev and Niall call me _Baz_ now. I already _had_ a nickname; my aunt calls me Basil. Is _two syllables_ too much for him? 

I sigh—an obnoxiously loud noise, so he knows just how much of a burden he is to me.

“Can I help you, Snow?” I ask cooly. I mimic the tone my father uses with the Mage—falsely polite, but with an edge like a dagger. 

I think it’s perfectly clear I don’t want to help him. But that doesn’t stop him from asking, “How do I sum-summon the tooth fairy?” 

I blink at him. “Shouldn’t you have lost all your baby teeth by now?”

He heaves a sigh. “Of course, but—"

“But Normal children are just developmentally slow?”

He scowls—an expression that changes his entire face. He’s usually like the human embodiment of sunshine: sky blue eyes, freckle kissed skin, permanent crooked smile. Only I can make him look like this: completely and utterly miserable, like a storm cloud on June day. 

Snow huffs, and points to the right side of his mouth. “But you—you knocked one out yesterday.”

Ah. That.

I’ve been dying to hit him for days. He killed a dragon last week, and I love dragons. My aunt Fiona used to tell me stories about the summer she spent breeding them and spell my toy dragons to fly around my room before bed those couple of years she lived with us after Mother died. They’re gentle creatures, sweet and motherly. Killing them is the highest form of evil; but, _of course,_ the Mage’s Heir can get away with _literal_ murder here.

I scowl, and simply say, “You deserved it.”

Snow lets out an impatient noise and pouts, a childish expression that makes him look like a cherub. I'm feeling a bit light-headed, looking at his lips—though, that must be because the room's gone hazy with his smoky magic. 

"Hell and horrors, Snow. I'm trying to translate Latin here. Can you get a grip on English and tell me what you want a little quicker?" 

"Wu-well," Snow stutters. He stammers and blusters like no one I've ever seen. It gets under my skin. He's supposedly the "Chosen One"—yet, he can't even get out a simple sentence. 

"What about the tooth fairy?" I ask as I put my pen down. The dizzying effect of his magic is becoming unbearable. The sooner he tells me what he wants, the sooner this is over. "I think the concept is pretty simple. You put your tooth under the pillow, and you wake up fifty pounds richer." I do a sarcastic handwave. "Ta-da." 

_"Fif-fifty pounds?"_ Snow blurts out, his mouth dropping open. 

"Are you being thick on purpose or on accident? That's what I just said." 

"And. And all I have to do is just..?" 

I exhale loudly. "This isn't dimensional magic, Snow. Just put your tooth under your pillow." 

He nods three times eagerly and turns away from me with a little grin on his face. His intoxicating magic is gone from the air, but looking at him still makes my head feel funny, like I've been spelled with a **Dazed and Confused.**

What's the latin translation for ‘what the hell’? 

( _Quae est infernum_ , my brain unhelpfully supplies. I'll have to remember to thank my Latin tutor later.) 

**Simon**

_Fifty pounds?!_

I've never seen that much money in my life! I hope Baz isn't messing with me. Penny says I'm gullible—it's a word I've recently learned. I don't think I am, I think I am just a little uneducated. What's that word? Ignorant. It's not my fault, but it makes me feel stupid and slow. (Living with Baz doesn't help.)

My tooth comes out easily while in the shower. Afterward, I almost skip out of our shared washroom in my Watford issued pyjama bottoms but no shirt. It's early March but I still feel too hot. 

Baz is already tucked in his bed. The book _War and Peace_ open on his knees. He's such a git. What kind of twelve-year-old reads a book like that? I tried to skim it when he was out of the room the other day because I was curious. It's dead boring. 

I'm excited about the concept of having my own money. Fifty pounds can get me so many things! I can hardly imagine how many Mint Aero bars I would be able to buy. Maybe some shirts that actually fit. Maybe something fun, like a comic book.

I pick up my pillow and switch my red ball for my tooth, excitement making me more giddy than sleepy. I open the window by my bed and inhale the cool night air, the heavy scent of the moat filling my lungs, it's such a distinct smell. I think I'll always connect it to Watford.

“For Merlin’s sake!” Baz snaps. "It’s freezing, close the damn window!”

I ignore him and flop down on my bed, lying on my back and tossing my ball above me and then catching it before it hits my face. Up, down, up, down. The _fwap_ of it hitting my palm is soothing and hypnotic, I can feel my eyes begin to grow heavy as I throw and catch.

Baz is complaining again. He's good at doing that, and he's good at threatening me. The roommates anathema prevents him from going through with anything. In our room, at least. He’s spelled me a few times while in the corridors between classes or during the weekend. We fight a lot.

I catch my ball one last time before curling on my side and falling asleep. Fifty pounds is my last coherent thought. 

* * *

The early morning sunlight causes me to stir. It's Saturday and breakfast won't be ready for probably another hour and I've nowhere to go. I turn over and try to focus on the sound of Baz breathing, it's become an oddly comforting sound over the last few months. I shove my red ball back under my pillow when last night suddenly floods back to me. 

The tooth fairy!

Fifty pounds!

I sit up and move my pillow to the side. Only to see my tooth still lying there. 

The lump in my throat is difficult to swallow. Disappointment is something I'm used to, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt every time. Damn it. I sniffle pathetically and rub at my face. If Baz were awake, he'd make fun of me.

Why didn't the tooth fairy show up? Is it that they think I'm a Normal still? I probably am a Normal. I've been told more than once that Mages don't give up their kids. I'm just some freak who doesn't really belong here; my tooth still under my pillow proves this. 

I blink away the wetness that clings to my lashes. This won't do. My alarm clock tells me it's too early to be awake on a Saturday morning, but I can't go back to sleep. I get up and get dressed, trying to be quiet—although Baz growls at me from under his blanket about how loud I am. 

My plan is to go into the Wavering Wood to swing my sword and think. The sword is cool; the Mage gave it to me when he made me his heir. I love it, and am admittedly obsessed with it and all swords now. Maybe I should summon it here and practice on Baz's side of the room just to get under his skin. I won't, the anathema only protects me in our bedroom, but the thought is entertaining. 

I need to find out why the tooth fairy didn't come for my tooth last night. There has to be some way to find out. Something has to be available in the library. I don’t want to talk about this with Penny, she’d be useful but I don’t want to see pity in her eyes when I eventually tell her that no one came for my tooth. This isn’t even about the money. I want to know: why am I not good enough? Maybe this was punishment for slaying that dragon last week. I hadn’t meant to do that, I was scared and just… exploded. It was an accident.

I sigh and tug on my hair, looking over at Baz for a moment. His hair looks different, I think he’s growing it out. I shake myself, can’t spend the morning staring at my roommate—that’s just creepy. I leave our room as silently as I can and cross the moat to visit Ebb and help her with the goats. Ebb is nice; if I ever had a mom I hope she was as kind as Ebb. 

With a plan in mind, I feel a little better. First Ebb, then breakfast, then the library. I’ll figure this out.

**Baz**

Snow is not eating breakfast with his usual disgusting urgency this morning. Watching him eat is like watching a lion devour a gazelle on the Animal Planet—only sloppier and more horrifying. But I've only seen him eat two scones since he came in messy-haired and pink-cheeked half an hour ago. (That's the other weird thing—I never beat him down to the dining hall). Penelope Bunce is talking to him—at the pace of a mile a minute, from the looks of it—but he's clearly zoned out. 

"—don't you think, Baz?" Niall's looking at me expectantly, and I realise Snow isn't the only one that's spaced out this morning. 

I give him a non-committal, "Hmm," and hope the conversation was about something trivial. I'm still discreetly watching Snow out of the corner of my eye; he's biting his nails with a scowl. His eyebrows are furrowed, and with a swooping sensation in my gut, I think, _I want to smooth it out with my finger._

Aleister Crowley, where did _that_ thought come from?

"—Baz? _Basilton."_ Dev's got his eyebrows raised at me. "What did I just say?" 

I can't bullshit my way through this response; I haven't got a clue what he said, and I tell him as much. 

"What's so interesting about Snow today?" Dev asks with a smirk. "Has he cocked up your desk organization again?"

I frown, knowing Dev is taking the piss. He thinks I'm overdramatic with my complaints—that Snow is just your average bad roommate. It's because his branch of the family is less concerned with the war. That must be why he doesn't care about how annoying and messy and daft Snow is. 

"No," I respond, my tone clipped. "He's just bothering me about the tooth fairy." 

Niall's brows furrow. "What's got Snow blabbering about tooth fairy?"

"I knocked out one of his teeth the other day. He was asking me for a spell to summon the tooth fairy." 

Dev and Niall let out mocking laughter. "Merlin and Morgana. He still believes in the bloody _tooth fairy."_

It takes me a moment longer than I'd like to admit for the realisation to dawn on me: the tooth fairy isn't _real._ Of course it isn't. I knew Father Christmas wasn't—have known since I was five and Father forgot to buy Christmas presents—but for some ridiculous reason, I thought there really was a tooth fairy. By the time I'd started losing my baby teeth, Fiona had moved in, so it must have been her who left the money, and after her it must have been Daphne. 

I'm glad that I've never been one to blush—not since what happened that day in the nursery—because I'm able to jump in on their teasing believably. "Right? He's as gullible as they come. I told him he'd wake up to fifty pounds this morning; that must be what he's so riled up over."

A pang of something punches me in the guts of the thought of Snow, smiling with that new ridiculous gap in his tooth, flipping over his pillow in delight as soon as he woke up, expecting money under his pillow, only to find empty bed sheets. It's an image that should give me pleasure, but that's not the right word to explain the sick lurching in my stomach. 

But it makes Dev and Niall cackle, and they obviously don't realise that, in this specific situation, I've been just as gullible as Snow. 

I push my discomfort away—put it in a little box and forget about it. 

* * *

I realise I shouldn't have just forgotten about Snow's tooth fairy fixation when, later that night, I leave our shared loo to find a magical wind destroying our bedroom. 

"What did you do!" I scream over the roaring cyclone. My words are a little muffled by my retainer, but I think the panic in my voice gets my point across clearly. 

"I—I didn't—I meant to—to—to—" he stammers, his expression appalled. 

"Use your _fucking_ words!" I scream. Daphne tells me not to curse—that it's not gentlemanly—but right now, I don't really give a damn. 

"T-tooth fairy!" he yells, and a hole opens up in the center of our bedroom. We both leap backwards in fear. 

A creature that looks straight out of a horror movie comes crawling out of the ground. The monster is shaped like a woman, with a black robe and long, stringy hair, but its face is skeleton-like with long, sharp fangs. When I see it's necklace of human baby teeth, I blanch. 

"What did you do?" I repeat, this time in a whisper. Snow's jaw is hanging open and he just shakes his head. 

"Hello, children," the thing hisses with a grotesque imitation of a smile. I go to look at her eyes but, with a shock, I realise she doesn't _have_ any—just two black holes where her eyes should be. "You two have summoned me?" 

I've never considered myself a coward—I am a Pitch, after all—but, despite that, I give up Snow immediately. "Not me. _Him,"_ I say, pointing to Snow. He sends me a resentful glare. 

The creature—some kind of messed up version of the tooth fairy, I guess—turns its body towards Snow. 

"Hello, Simon," the tooth fairy croons. 

"How-how do you know my n-name?"

"I know all the children's names," it says. "You are Simon Snow, and that is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch." 

A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of my name in her mouth. I think about running far away from this creature. Hell and horrors, I might even let Snow come find a hiding place with me. 

But Snow apparently has different plans. He summons his Sword of Mages. 

  
  


**Simon**

I push Baz behind me and make sure that my sword is before us. My grip on it is tight and sure. He's an arse, and he gave me up rather quickly, but I don't want this thing to kill him.

“What the fuck have you done, you stupid numpty?” Baz squeaks at me. The door isn't so far; I hope he takes the chance and runs to safety while I take care of this problem that I've brought upon myself.

I don't answer him. Instead I look at this monster in our room. I may be eleven, but I've already slain a dragon and killed a goblin king. I recognize a monster when I see one.

She's got serpentine features and her dark eye sockets are staring at us, which causes my stomach to twist. Her necklace worsens the fear in the pit of my stomach.

Baz has his arm extended over my left shoulder, his wand pointed at her.

“What are you?” Baz demands. I'm almost surprised he hasn't run, but he's never backed down from a challenge before so I doubt he'll start now.

“My name is Lamia.” Her grotesque smile hasn't faded, and I'm beginning to suspect that her face is stuck like that. In a permanent grimace.

Baz's arm is trembling against me. It's light enough that it isn't noticeable to the naked eye, but I can feel it. He's just as scared as me. 

I wish I hadn't done this. I should have just cut my losses and accept that nothing good, like money from the tooth fairy, ever happens to me. The best thing that has ever happened was Watford, so I've probably used up my quota of good things in this lifetime with that. 

I jut my chin out at her and widen my stance. There's not much space where we're standing by the wardrobes, but it'll have to do. “I don't want to kill you, and I won't, so long as you leave.” I didn't want to kill the dragon or the goblin, but I got scared—like I am now—and just exploded. I'm hoping my crap magic works to my benefit now. 

It's sluggish, but my magic is already causing the air around us to take on a green tinge.

Everything is still in our room, like a deep breath before the plunge. I can already tell that she's going to attack us, I just wish I knew how she plans to do it.

“Snow.” Baz's voice is hardly above a whisper. A warning? A plea? A curse?

Lamia opens her mouth, her forked tongue flicking out against the air. She moves her body smoothly, and I'm immediately reminded of the basilisk the Mage and I hunted down before school began—just a little after I came into my magic.

“Fuck,” I curse just as I manage to block her teeth with the Sword of Mages. Her saliva drips down onto the floor with a hiss on impact as the wood dissolves. Acid spit, fantastic.

“ **Bolt From The Blue**!” Baz says from his spot, lightning striking Lamia and causes her to jolt back. Her robes open at that, revealing a long snake tail where her legs should be. It's the same colour as her flesh, and makes me feel nauseous.

I jump onto my bed and try to attack her to the best of my ability. There's not much space, and she's fast. Like a cobra. Her body is much longer than we initially thought, she takes up nearly the entire length of our room.

Lamia laughs. “You stupid child.”

I'm parrying and thrusting and trying my best to not be bitten by her fanged mouth or nicked with her insanely sharp claws. Her tail is lashing at Baz, attempting to coil around him in some way, probably to squeeze him to death.

I wonder if the room below us has their ceiling spelled silent? Because my wardrobe has just been knocked down with a loud bang. It's blocking the door.

“ **Go Down In Flames**!” Baz spells, but the fire is deflected and causes his mattress to burst into flames.

I kick at Lamia while blocking another attack from her. My mattress is in near shreds from how often her claws have grazed it.

“This is _not_ how I'm going to die!” Baz cries between failed spells. Why isn't his magic working on this beast?

Lamia is swiping at me and it's near impossible for me to get a hit in on her. I just need to thrust this bloody sword into her chest and pray that it works. Or possibly decapitate her. But it's getting hard to see through my magic and now the smoke. Breathing is becoming impossible and I'm terrified. I can't die here. I can't let _Baz_ die here, it's not his fault that I'm an idiot.

Lamia’s tail gets a hold of Baz's ankle, dragging him to the floor. 

“Baz!” My distraction is enough that Lamia manages a hard swipe at my side that sends me flying into Baz. I drop the sword as my hands come to my ribs, sticky bloody oozing out. 

The tell-tale static is fierce under my skin now, and time feels like it's slowing down. 

“Close your eyes!” I bark at Baz, keeping his body as shielded by mine as much as possible; he'll be safe there, under me. Safer than anywhere else in this room. His hands are holding onto my arm tight enough that there's going to be bruises later. My mouth tastes like ash and I can only hear my heart pounding in my ears as my magic swells and grows and then—well, then I _explode_.

He may be a tit, but I hope I don't hurt Baz.

The thing about going off is that I tend to lose consciousness when it happens. I get so overflowed with magic and my body can't seem to handle that. 

There's ringing in my ears when I finally come to, and Baz is peering down at me with a concerned look on his face as he points his wand over me. The ends of his hair are slightly singed, and there's soot on his posh pyjamas. I can taste the grease burn of his magic as he spells me, but my brain can't seem to focus on him. My gaze goes to the rest of our room. It's in shambles, my bed torn apart and his little more than burnt remains. Our shared beside table is hacked in two and our desks are overturned. There are papers and books and random bits everywhere. Where Lamia once was are now scorch marks and charred chunks of flesh. The room smells of smoke and overcooked meat.

“Hey,” I manage to say to Baz, my voice sounds like a croak and I'm just now realising he's been trying to heal the wound on my side. “Are you okay?”

**Baz**

Am _I_ okay? 

"You just exploded," I say dumbly. 

I knew he could do that. Everyone calls it him _going off._ But I'd never seen it first-hand—just heard stories. In my head, I pictured it more comically, like a Saturday morning cartoon, with smoke coming out of his ears and a _boom!_ sound. But there's nothing funny about what just happened to Snow. He went fuzzy at the edges, and his face contorted in pain before he collapsed as if he'd been hit by a grenade. Except, the grenade seemed to come from inside him, right from the middle of his chest. 

For one heartstopping moment, I thought that his magic had killed him. 

I may hate him, but I don't want him to _die._

Snow doesn't seem concerned with his own well-being whatsoever. For some reason, he's worried about _me._

"Ye-yeah, I do that," he stutters. Casually, like all eleven-year-old boys are really nuclear weapons. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I snap. "Stop talking. You're bleeding." 

I keep trying to fix his injuries with the healing spell Daphne always does on me when I scrape my hands or bruise my knees. **"Get Well Soon! An Apple A Day!"** I try again, to no avail. 

"That's n-not going to wu-work," Snow tells me calmly. 

"Shut up, I'm trying to help you." I'm annoyed he doesn't think I'm a good enough mage to heal him, even if it is true. 

"No, it's too bad for that. I have to go to the nurse," he says seriously. 

I realise, with an uncomfortable pang in my gut, that he's speaking from experience. He's had enough bad injuries to know when he needs a professional to patch him up. 

"Fine, okay," I say. "Do you need help getting up?"

He shakes his head no, but he's wobbly on his feet and almost trips himself when he tries to get up. I huff out a sigh of frustration and grab him around the waist to steady him, even though touching him gives me a fluttering stomach ache.

We get down the stairs and across campus at a snail's pace. His movements are so sluggish, he reminds me of a troll. But, finally, we make it to the nurse's office. 

Nurse Blackwell doesn't look at all alarmed that Snow's gushing blood from his stomach. She just sighs. "Hello, Mr. Snow. What happened this time?"

I guess I was right about him being a regular here. 

Snow is gaping like a fish, opening and closing his mouth while he tries to find his words. Stuttered half-started sentences come out of his mouth: "I-I was just—we were—and then—it was for—"

The lie slips off my tongue before I realise I'm going to say it. "We were in the Wavering Woods and something attacked us." 

The room goes silent. 

"In the Wavering Woods?" Nurse Blackwell asks, looking suspiciously at the pair of us. We're in our pyjamas and it's 9 P.M. I think it's quite obvious we weren't on an evening stroll, but I carry on regardless. 

"Yes," I say quickly, continuing to make up the lies on the spot as I go. "We were trying to find a herb for potions class."

"Mmhmm. And did you get a look at what attacked you in the Woods?" 

"No. I couldn't tell what it was." I shrug—a gesture I learned from Snow. (I'm sure it makes me look daft, but that's my intention, so the nurse doesn't suspect my lying.) "It came out of nowhere and scratched Snow." 

Nurse Blackwell seems like she finds this version of events unlikely, but ultimately decides to accept our tall tale. She patches up Snow with more powerful healing spells and insists I awkwardly wait for her to cast **Get Well Soon!** on some scratches I got on my elbow when Snow knocked me over. 

It's already nearly curfew when Snow and I leave the nurse's office. Despite the fact that we're heading to the same place, we walk a couple yards apart from one another in complete silence. 

He speaks up the moment the door to our bedroom closes behind him. 

"What was that?" Snow growls. 

I turn my nose up at him. "What was what?" 

"You! You lied to N-Nurse Blackwell!" 

"What, did you want me to tell her that you summoned a child-killing monster in the hopes of earning fifty pounds?" 

Crowley, I still can't believe he summoned _Lamia._ She's an ancient demon—one that I thought was just a scary story until tonight. If Snow hadn't gone off, she would have swallowed us both alive. 

He flushes a deep red and loses his ability to speak again. He gets like this a lot when he's upset or embarrassed or agitated or, really, feeling pretty much any emotion. It's horribly annoying. 

"Spit it out, Snow." 

"Thanks, I guess," he grumbles, looking down at his scuffed trainers. "For, you know, covering for me." 

Oh. 

"I just didn't want to deal with all the questions." I don't know if that's true. Honestly, I'm not sure _why_ I lied to the nurse. But Snow thinking I was trying to protect him is so uncomfortable that I just want to shut it down. 

I start casting spells on the room, so that he can't get a word in. I fix both our mattresses so they're usable, and get some of the scorch marks out of the floor. I can't get the room to go completely back to normal by myself—I'm going to have to ask some of my older cousins with help with the spellwork tomorrow—but it looks much better once I'm done with it.

When he realises I'm finished, he opens his mouth like he's looking for his words. Since I'm still trying to avoid having another conversation with him, I walk into our en suite and lock the door behind me. 

When I come back out, Snow's lying in his bed with his back to me. The lamp between our beds is still on, so I shut it off and crawl into my bed. 

I'm cold even after I get under the covers. This is typical—I'm always cold. I credit my thin skin for why I always need to dress in layers and sleep with two extra blankets, even though I know there's another, more likely answer. 

I also blame Snow, because he keeps our window open at all hours, even through the nights. 

I sigh loudly. I should get up and close it, but I've already cocooned myself in my bed. I'm trying to talk myself into quickly running over to the window, when Snow starts talking. 

"B-Baz? Are you up?" 

"No," I snap at him. 

"I-I think we should le-leave the lamp on tonight," he stutters. 

"Why? Are you scared?" I mock, even though, truthfully, I'm pretty afraid myself. The reason I didn't want to get up to close the window is because a part of me is worried that Lamia is going to snatch me from beneath the bed and have me as a late night snack. 

"Sh-shut up," he growls, and he turns over in bed so I can see his face in the moonlight. He's pouting, with his bottom lip stuck out and his eyebrows furrowed and—Crowley—I think he might have unshed tears in his eyes. 

"Do you need to sleep in my bed tonight?" 

The question is supposed to come out as a cruel joke. But it gets kind of stuck in my throat and, when I manage to choke it out, it ends up sounding almost sincere. 

Snow must think I was being serious, because he gets up from his bed and walks over to mine. He nudges my stomach with his knee, trying to get me to budge over. 

I should tell him to get away from me. I should start throwing insults his way. I should punch him in the mouth. 

Instead, I scoot over, and he gets into my bed with me. 

He's warm—really warm. I see now why he always wants to keep the window open. He's like a human furnace. 

"We never talk about this again," I say slowly. "Ever. To anyone. Not even each other." 

Simon just yawns. "Whatever, Baz." 

His eyelashes flutter closed, and he's asleep within a minute.

I don't think I've ever seen him look so peaceful. Usually, he's sprawled all over his bed with his stupid mouth agape, drooling like a dog on his pillow. But right now, he's in the fetal position, with his hands under his cheek, and he doesn't look like the weapon that can blow up a demon. He just looks like a boy.

In the moonlight, I can clearly see the three mole he's got dotting his right cheek. Suddenly, I get the irrational urge to kiss them. 

My stomach revolts at the feeling—the same churning reaction I got when I had to touch him to get him down to the nurse's office. It settles in my gut like a premonition—one I'm not ready to face. 

I push away the feeling, ignore it, refuse to think about it. 

Instead, I roll over in my bed, careful not to touch any part of Simon Snow. I fall asleep to the gentle sounds of his breathing. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

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